


Green

by Antuhsa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Eye Contact, HP Horror Fest 2018, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-War, St Mungo's Hospital, trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-04-25 15:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14381433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antuhsa/pseuds/Antuhsa
Summary: In St Mungo's, caught between the war and his trial, Snape has no idea how to proceed. Leave it to Potter to barge in and disrupt his musings. However, the boy's unusual demand may end up helping them both.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A shoutout to [Acid (ac1d6urn)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acid/pseuds/ac1d6urn) for being an awesome beta! She patiently guided me through all the lows of writing by asking me the right questions. And her critical suggestions made the final story a lot better than it would have been otherwise. Thank you so much for all your help!
> 
> Also a huge thank you to the mods for hosting such a great fest. Can't wait to read the other entries! 
> 
> For everyone reading: this story was written for HP Horrorfest and lists the **Major Character Death** tag for a reason. Please don't read if it's not your thing.
> 
> Disclaimer: everything you recognise belongs to J. K. Rowling, I make no money out of it.

It was dark. The single window covered by thin curtains let little moonlight in. Snape listened to the sounds from the corridor. Sometimes he could hear whispered conversations, sometimes hurried footsteps, and sometimes soft giggling from the interns. He waited until it was finally quiet, before he struggled to sit up and lean back against the headboard. He cast a Muffliato and closed the curtains around his bed with a flick of his wand. Still cautious, he reached for the bedside table, until he felt the smooth paper of yesterday’s Daily Prophet. He lifted it up and placed it on his lap. In the scant light that came from the corridor and the window, he transfigured it into a bowl.

Pathetic as he was, that meagre action already had him breathing heavily. He sagged down and closed his eyes. When his breathing returned to normal again, he opened them. He gripped the bowl and bent down until his face was right over it. Then he pointed his wand towards his stomach and muttered a spell. He was retching immediately. The bitter taste that flooded his mouth made tears stream from his eyes and snot drip from his nose. He heaved and threw up, again and again, until his stomach was emptied. 

He collapsed in his bed in an undignified slump. He was tired. So very tired. He barely managed to lift his wand to cast a cleaning spell and transfigure the bowl back before he promptly fell asleep.

*

“Is he ready yet?” A rough voice asked the next morning. 

Snape woke with a groan when his bed curtains suddenly parted open and more light streamed in. He felt as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. His limbs were so heavy, he could barely move. With some effort he opened one bleary eye. When the light hit, he closed it immediately, but it was enough to spot a red uniform. Of course. If he'd had any energy, he would have snorted.

“Let me have a look.” That was the voice of Mr. Smethwyck, Healer-in-charge of the _Dai Llewellyn Ward for Serious Bites_ at St Mungo’s, where Snape was currently located.

Snape opened his eyes again, just in time to see the diagnostic spell hit him. Smethwyck, a man in his late-forties with short, brown curls, reached out for the scroll that appeared in mid-air and read it with a frown.

“Strange,” he said. “No improvements in the past few days.”

“But he's been here for weeks!” The Auror exclaimed. Then added, suspicious, “You are not neglecting your duties, are you?”

“Certainly not.” The Healer raised an eyebrow. “This is, after all, my job.”

The Auror tapped his lips. “Very well,” he said. “Let us know as soon as he is stable. The Minister, and the public, would like to see him tried sooner rather than later.”

“Naturally,” Smethwyck said calmly.

“Unless I hear from you earlier, I'll return in a week to check on him again.” The Auror nodded at Smethwyck and strode out.

Snape closed his eyes and sighed in relief. So the trial had been delayed for another week. He would not have to suffer Azkaban just yet. Or worse, being freed of all charges and having to decide what to do next. He knew very well that there were no employers that would hire him, no clients that would want his services. No, for now, being in hospital was the better option.

Healer Smethwyck closed the door behind the Auror and approached Snape’s bed. “I have breakfast for you.”

The smell of porridge wafted past his nostrils. Snape’s stomach rumbled, but he stared at the tray floating above his bed in distaste. “I don’t want it,” he rasped and coughed. His throat felt as if it had been lined with sandpaper.

Smethwyck ignored that. “Can you sit?”

Snape tried to move, but he could only lift his head a few inches before the surroundings danced before his eyes. He dropped it back with a groan.

“Let me.” Smethwyck placed his hands under Snape’s arms and hoisted him up. With one quick movement, Snape found himself upright, supported by the headboard, his head falling back against the wall. He allowed the unwanted attention with gritted teeth. Not that he could have done anything to stop it.

The Healer sat down on the chair next to his bed and stirred the porridge. Snape glared at it. He knew it had been laced with potions. He wanted to refuse, but then Smethwyck would find another way to get the potions in him. Possibly via injection. That would work faster than swallowing and, as a result, require more ingenuity to be rid of. Something Snape didn’t have the energy for right now.

Smethwyck placed one hand on the back of Snape’s head to lift it and held the spoon in front of him. Snape fisted the sheets, but opened his mouth obediently. He hated this. Hated being spoonfed. Hated being propped up like a doll, but he had no choice. It was the price he had to pay for refusing to heal, and pay he would. Considering the alternative, it was hardly a high price anyway.

The Healer fed him another spoonful and waited patiently until he had chewed and swallowed. When he was done, Snape dropped his head back and panted from the exertion. Merlin, he was pathetic. “I don’t know how you can put up with this,” he rasped once he had caught his breathing back under control.

“It’s my job,” Smethwyck said calmly.

Snape stayed silent. He allowed the Healer to lift his head back up and opened his mouth for the next spoonful.

*

“Professor.”

It was right after dinner. As usual, Snape had tried to avoid eating it, spilling as much as he could on the sheets, but his Healer had smiled calmly and forced it down his throat anyway. Afterwards, he had cleaned the wound on Snape's neck and refreshed the bandages. Now, with his stomach filled with blood-replenishers and other unwelcome substances, Snape was feeling somewhat less tired and lightheaded and was sitting up in his bed with a book. He didn’t need to look up to see who had entered. There was only one person who called him by his old title here.

Potter stumbled into his room almost every day. Why, Snape had no idea. The first day the boy had graced the room with his presence, he had fidgeted for half an hour, and then suddenly blurted out a long, incoherent monologue, which Snape had eventually understood as an expression of gratitude. When Potter was finished, Snape had asked how the he had survived. Then, satisfied with the answer, he had gone back to his reading. He had said everything he had wanted to say and had assumed that Potter had done the same. Nevertheless, the boy kept visiting. He usually settled somewhere in the room while Snape ignored him, until Smethwyck shooed him out.

This time, Potter walked unsteadily to his bedside, in a mint-green hospital tunic that Snape himself was intimately familiar with. Potter dropped down into the chair, as heavily as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Knowing the boy, he probably thought he did.

Snape turned the page, to the sound of Potter’s soft breathing. He could feel his stare prickle on his neck. It made him self-conscious about his own raspy breath, his bandaged throat and shabby nightshirt. He gripped the book harder and tried to ignore it, but after a few minutes, he slammed the book down. 

“Stop staring!” Those few words were immediately followed by a coughing fit.

Potter, knowing better than to pat his back, waited until Snape was finished and smiled sadly. “I had a nightmare.”

Snape took a sip of water from the glass on his bedside table. “We all do. Don’t bother me with it,” he rasped, and coughed again.

“It was about you dying,” Potter continued obliviously.

“Is that all? I have nightmares about everybody else dying. Now leave.”

“May I look into your eyes?”

“What?” Snape blinked and turned his head in Potter’s direction. He had large circles under his eyes and his face was pale, but his expression looked sincere.

“I know it’s strange.” Potter was blushing. “But I keep having nightmares about you and that moment in the Shack. All the blood and... well. It’s probably driving my Healers mad to find me screaming every night. They keep telling me that you aren't dead, but it’s not helping. So we thought that maybe, if I, you know, look into your eyes again and see you are alive, up close, the nightmares will go away.”

Snape snapped the book closed. “That’s the most ridiculous...” He coughed again. “Most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Potter shrugged. “It seemed to help you when you were dying, so I thought it might help us both if we did it again.”

“Those were different circumstances. As it is, I have no wish to stare lovingly into your eyes,” Snape rasped.

“Not lovingly!”

Smethwyck chose exactly that moment to enter the room. “Healer Smethwyck,” Snape said as he walked past his bed, “I am tired. Do escort Mr. Potter out.”

Potter stood up with a sigh when Smethwyck approached him and practically stumbled out of the door. He was clearly exaggerating his displeasure: Potter, the poor victim. Some things never changed. Snape scowled after him.

*

Potter returned the next evening, dressed once more in the formless hospital tunic. “I need you to look at me,” he said before he had even sat down.

Snape lifted an eyebrow and continued his reading.

“Dammit, Snape.” Snape blinked when Potter slammed his fist down on his nightstand. “I know you don’t like me, but all you have to do is look at me!”

“Calm down, Mr. Potter,” Smethwyck said and came to stand behind him. “This is a hospital and my patient needs his rest. If you can’t behave, I will have to ask you to leave.”

“Sorry,” Potter said with a look that was anything but sorry. “It's bloody frustrating. All I'm asking for is for him to look at me, but he’s refusing.”

“Ah,” Smethwyck said. “Your Healers suggested you to try eye contact therapy, didn’t they? I heard about that. I think it’s a marvellous idea. You should try it, Mr. Snape.”

Snape glared at the man. “I thought you were my Healer, not his.”

“I am,” Smethwyck said, “but I wouldn’t have encouraged Mr. Potter if I didn’t think it could be beneficial for you. My colleagues on the continent have been experimenting with it and have seen very promising results. It helps patients deal better with their emotions after trauma or during illness. In fact,” Smethwyck’ brown eyes bored into Snape’s, “I insist that you do it. I’m inclined to believe that your unexpected lack of progress toward recovery might stem from a mental issue. Mr. Potter's suggestion might help you.”

“I thought Healers weren’t allowed to force patients into treatment.” Snape snapped.

A muscle in Smethwyck’s jaw twitched. “Not usually, no, but your case is different, as you well know. I’ve been ordered to heal you, so you are well enough to stand trial. And I will do it.”

Just his luck that he had been assigned an overly enthusiastic Healer. Snape crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m lightheaded.”

Smethwyck merely pointed his wand at him and cast the diagnostic spell. He plucked a scroll out of thin air and read it. “No, you aren't.”

Snape scowled at the man. “I do not wish to waste my time looking at Potter. In fact, I’m certain our complicated past will negatively impact my healing.”

Smethwyck pocketed the scroll. “I disagree. Either way, we won't know unless we try.”

When Snape was still glaring at him, Smethwyck narrowed his eyes. “Is there another reason you do not wish to cooperate?”

Damn. Snape hid his face behind his hair. If Smethwyck suspected something and started to monitor him more closely, he wouldn’t be able to get rid of the potions. Perhaps he had better play along for now, until Potter's attention wandered. That wouldn’t take long anyway. “Fine,” he spat, “but I want him to leave immediately afterwards.”

He waited until Potter nodded before he put his book away. Smethwyck drew the curtains around his bed closed halfway. When that was done, Snape stared at Potter. He had looked into his eyes many times before, during those ill-fated Occlumency lessons. How difficult could it be to do so again? Surely he could manage a few scant seconds of eye gazing. After all, no one had stated how long this absurdity had to last

Potter leaned forward, so close he was almost invading Snape's personal space. Snape tightened his jaw and fought to stay still. He was not going to back away from a seventeen year-old. Why would he even need to get so close? He could see him perfectly well from the other side of the room.

Snape glared at Potter. His eyes were unnaturally widened, as if he was determined not to blink. Stupid boy.

Snape looked past the smudges on Potter's lenses at his right eye, the one that was the farthest away. It was green, so similar to another pair of eyes he had once known. Except for a few dark dots, right under the pupil.

He chanced a glance at Potter's left eye. It was close to him. Much closer than any other green eye had ever been. It looked so vivid. Despite himself, he looked deeper. Potter seemed to welcome him. Snape probably wouldn’t even need his wand to push further, but it would be overwhelming. Even like this it felt as if he could lose himself in the boy’s emotions. He winced and averted his gaze.

Potter blinked, finally, and leant away from him. Good. He wondered what Potter had seen in his stare. Probably not much. His Occlumency shields were an afterthought by now, albeit much weaker as a result of his current condition. Nevertheless, he felt… naked. He draped his arm over himself and moved slightly further away from the boy.

“How was it?”

“Get out,” Snape rasped.

Potter nodded, looking slightly dejected, and stumbled away.

Smethwyck opened his mouth to say something, but one glare silenced him, and he, too, left. He forgot to open the curtains, but Snape didn’t mind. It was the only privacy he had in this blasted hospital.

Snape felt exhausted. He lifted a heavy hand to shove the book off his bed and drew the blankets around him. He fell asleep immediately and almost didn’t wake up in time to go through his vomiting routine.

*

Potter did not visit the next day. Snape sulked all evening. If the boy went through all the trouble to force him into a staring contest, he could at least take the time tell him if it had helped with the nightmares. It was only polite.

Potter returned the day after. Snape watched him as he walked unsteadily to the chair next to the bed and sat down. He looked paler than he had done two days ago. Snape focused on his book and hated himself for noticing.

“Hello?”

Snape lifted an eyebrow and continued reading.

Potter fidgeted. Snape looked up and glared at him.

“Sorry,” Potter said before Snape had even opened his mouth to berate the boy. “What we did really helped. No nightmares. Well, not about you anyway.” He smiled wistfully.

Snape didn’t know why his toes suddenly curled and his throat constricted. He coughed and took a sip of water, to get rid of the uncomfortable sensation. “Fantastic,” he said hoarsely. “Go away.”

“Oh,” Potter shifted uncomfortably. “I was hoping we could do it again actually.”

Snape snorted. “Why? You just told me it worked.”

“Only for one night.” Potter said.

“I see,” Snape said and looked down at his book again.

“Did it help you? Anything at all?”

Other than giving him the best night sleep he had had in weeks? “No,” Snape said brusquely, turning a page. His sleep may have been good, but it had made him wake up almost too late to be able to remove the potions from his body without a Healer noticing. He would never have forgiven Potter if that happened.

“Oh,” Potter said again. He was so eloquent. “So, er…”

“Potter,” Snape rasped, just so he wouldn’t have to suffer through Potter searching for his words. “Why did you come here?”

Potter's smile was sad. “Company,” he said. “I also have a room to myself, but I hate being alone.”

Snape scowled. Of course. Potter surely had admirers all over St Mungo’s and only came to see him when there was no one else available. He wondered why he even visited him at all. The boy had to be really desperate for company. “I see, unlike the rest of us, you cannot be content with some peace and quiet.”

“I suppose.” Potter stared at his hands. “I wish I had a roommate, but they place patients with the same problems together and there’s no one else like me.”

Snape hmphed. Potter was surely exaggerating. He had a private room because he was the bloody Saviour of the Wizarding World. Unlike Snape, who only had once because nobody wanted to share a room with him. Well, at least his role in the war had one benefit. “Why are you really here? Ran out of adoring fans to keep you company?”

Potter glared at him. “They’re called friends. And yeah, they visit a lot, but only during visiting hours. One hour a day isn’t much.”

Snape snorted. He thought Potter had very little to complain about. One would be lucky to have company for just an hour a day. Preferably less. But no, he had to put up with Smethwyck striding in and out whenever he pleased, and all the smothering that came with it.” 

“So can I look at you again?” Potter asked. “It would really help me.”

Smethwyck chose that exact moment to walk in. Snape was certain it had not been an accident. He glared at the man. “Very well,” he said.

Potter leant forwards. Snape crossed his arms over his chest and turned his head.

He stared into Potter's eyes. Potter’s gaze was direct, unguarded. The boy had stared at him many times before, but never like this, as if he could look into his very soul. Snape's arms tightened over his body and he looked away. Unfortunately in the direction of Smethwyck, who raised a stern eyebrow. Snape gritted his teeth and looked back at Potter.

He stared into the right eye. The black dots under the pupil seemed to have grown in size. Snape frowned. Unless you were the Dark Lord, eyes usually didn't change their appearance. He looked a little closer. Yes, they really did seem to be bigger. How odd.

He looked at the other eye. That one also had the dark dots, although in different places. Very odd. He studied Potter intently. His eyes were so green. The exact same shade as Lily’s. He had that same determined look that Lily’s sometimes had. And right now, his gaze was softening, just as Lily’s had often done. His heart clenched painfully. It had been a long time since he had seen green eyes looking back with anything other than contempt. His throat constricted and he tried to swallow. It was almost like looking at Lily again, from before that moment. A long time ago.

He averted his gaze and reached for the glass of water next to him. He heard Potter sigh and lean back.

“Enough,” Snape said, his voice sounding harsh even to his own ears. He picked up his book and did not watch Potter leave.

*

Of course, the staring match had not been enough for Potter. He returned the next day, stumbling, but slightly less pale.

“I take it that helped,” Snape rasped before Potter had opened his mouth.

“It did.” Potter said. “What about you?”

Snape had not slept so well that night. Potter’s gaze had kept flashing before his mind’s eye. Though when he finally had fallen asleep, he did not have as many nightmares. Luckily he had been clear headed enough to cast the alarm spell, so he had woken up in time for his night routine. "Acceptable,” he said hoarsely.

“Good,” Potter said, almost smiling. “Can we do it again?”

Smethwyck wasn’t around, so Snape could easily refuse. It was not as if he particularly cared about Potter and his nightmares, but then Potter would probably run to Smethwyck first chance he had and Snape would never hear the end of it. So, he nodded.

Potter was definitely smiling now and leant forward. Snape draped one arm over himself and turned his head so he could face his visitor.

Potter was more relaxed this time. He blinked normally. Snape examined the right eye. The dark spots appeared to be the same size as yesterday. Maybe Snape had imagined it after all.

Potter’s gaze was still determined, but also warm. Snape looked. The boy was so open and his gaze was getting warmer still. If Snape didn’t know any better, he would have called it kind. Not many people had ever looked at him like that. Snape swallowed, but kept on looking. He turned so he was now facing Potter. That way he could focus on both eyes. It would be so easy to let himself be swept up by that kind, green gaze, but he would not. He was only here to do Potter a service. Still, the eyes were so much like Lily’s, it was disconcerting. Snape looked, mesmerised by that warm, green gaze. He did not notice his arm falling to his lap, his hand opening. Only when he felt a prickle in his leg did he look down. His leg had fallen asleep. He quickly turned his head away and stared at the wall until he could hear Potter leave.

*

Potter came back daily after that and Snape found himself almost looking forwards to the evening visits, it was a welcome change from staring at the ceiling or reading the news. They barely spoke. Potter would walk in, somewhat unsteadily, they would proceed with the 'therapy' and he would leave again.

One evening, when he was expecting Potter, Smethwyck entered with a middle-aged woman. She had a stern face and was dressed in a white Healer’s robe. Smethwyck closed the curtains around Snape’s bed and cast a privacy spell around them. 

“Mr. Snape?” He asked. “This is Claire Baker, head of the research department of this wing and currently working on Mr. Potter's case. She wants to talk to you.”

Snape raised an eyebrow and put his book aside. Baker shook his hand and drew back almost immediately. She dragged the chair towards her, as far away from him as possible, and sat down. Snape was intimately familiar with her kind. He narrowed his eyes and straightened his back as much as he was able, trying to look down his nose at her.

“I…” The woman gulped and looked away, seemingly at war with herself. After a few moments, she looked back at him with determination. “We need help.”

Snape regarded her blankly. Why she had gone through all the trouble to tell him this, he did not understand. “Indeed?”

Baker pursed her lips, giving her face an even sterner expression, and folded her hands tightly in her lap. “As you may know, we conduct magical research and brew our own medicines. However, with the recent increase of patients and the loss of many qualified brewers as a direct result of the war, we simply cannot meet the demand. I’m working days and nights on researching Mr. Potter’s unique predicament and do not have the time for brewing. Simply put: we are desperate for help.”

Snape was fairly certain he knew where this was heading and he did not like it one bit. “Are there no suppliers available?” He coughed and reached for his glass.

“There are,” Baker said stiffly when he had taken a sip, “but we don’t have the time nor the means to make sure their products meet our standards.”

Snape crossed his arms over his chest. “Why did you come here?”

Baker glared. “We need your help.”

“What for?”

“We need someone who can brew the basic potions our patients need, so that we can address the more time-consuming tasks.”

In summary, he would be the one to do all menial work. Snape scowled. They had to be really desperate to ask someone who could barely eat without assistance. “I am a patient here, Ms. Baker.”

“I know,” Baker said coolly. “Believe me, if there had been anyone else available, I would have never have asked a patient.”

Who is also a murderer and a Death Eater, she did not say. She didn’t need to. Snape could see it in her guarded expression, hear it in her clipped voice.

“However,” she continued, “you are a certified and reliable brewer, as I’ve understood from various sources. Loathe as I am to admit it, we are unable to do our job without help. And I cannot, will not, have patients suffer due to a lack of staff.”

Snape scowled. “I am not well enough to brew.” He coughed, to emphasise the point.

Baker snorted and nodded at Smethwyck. “I have your Healer's permission. You are well enough in the evenings.”

“She is correct,” Smethwyck said. “Bed rest isn't doing you any favours. A change of scenery and something to occupy your time will do you a world of good.”

So Smethwyck was talking about him behind his back. Hippocratic oath be damned. Snape glared. “I cannot leave the bed yet.” The words prompted a coughing fit.

“Hovering chairs exist, Mr. Snape." Baker informed him cheerfully. "Healer Smethwyck will direct you to our lab tomorrow evening. Good night.”

She stood up and walked away before Snape's coughing subsided.

Snape scowled at her swift exit. He snapped at Smethwyck and when Potter entered later, he sent him out of his room after just a few seconds of eye contact, ignoring his hurt stare.


	2. Chapter 2

Snape tried his worst to look unwell the next day. He had vomited that night and refused to eat, until Smethwyck, holding the spoon to his lips, threatened with injection and he had to open his mouth. After dinner, Smethwyck checked him again and declared him fit enough for brewing. Snape held himself stiffly and did not cooperate at all when Smethwyck tried to get him out of bed, dress him and get him into the hovering chair, so Smethwyck whipped his wand out and simply levitated him into the damned thing. Once he was in it, Smethwyck pushed him to the lab, only a few corridors away.

Baker opened the door when they knocked. She greeted Snape coolly, nodded at Smethwyck and took over the chair from him to push Snape inside.

As they entered, Snape smelled the familiar scents of asphodel, hellebore and benzoin. He inhaled deeply.

The lab was nearly empty, with only a few brewers. Baker gave him a short tour. The place consisted of various work spaces, little islands, each equipped with a few cauldrons in various sizes and materials, a large bench, a selection of knives and other tools, as well as a collection of neatly labelled jars with the most common ingredients. In the back, Baker showed him, was the cupboard with the rare supplies.

Snape looked around. The working islands were spacey, with enough room to work on several potions at once and not be in anyone’s way. The unused benches were clean. The ingredient jars were well-stocked and ordered alphabetically. The lab didn’t feel stuffy, despite the various bubbling cauldrons, so it had to be well-ventilated. In short, it was exactly as he himself would have arranged it and try as he might, he could find no fault with it.

Baker pushed him to an empty workbench, well away from any of the other occupants. With a flick of her wand, various jars settled on the table.

Snape looked at them. “A painkiller,” he said.

Baker nodded and flicked her wand again, to summon knives and other tools he might need. Snape regarded the commotion with his arms crossed.

When she was done, she turned to him. “Listen carefully, Snape,” she said coolly. “You are here because we are in dire need of an extra pair of hands, that is all. I will be nearby, monitoring you all the while. If I notice sabotage in any shape or form, I will call the Aurors, regardless of what state you're in.”

Snape scowled. Daft bint. Why would he poison other patients? It would be much more logical to do away with their Healers instead. “Understood.”

“Very well,” she said. “As you’ve seen, you are to brew a painkiller. I have collected enough supplies for fifty batches and I trust you know what to do. Call if you need help. I will keep an eye on you and will return you to your room when you have finished.”

Snape nodded and turned to the table, his eyes scanning the supplies. Everything he needed was right here. Baker was efficient, he had to give her that.

He waited until she mumbled the monitoring spell and walked away. Only then did he reach for the first ingredient and started cutting.

He quickly fell back in the familiar rhythm and set to work with a vigour: cutting, stirring, adjusting the fire. He hadn’t brewed in months and had missed it. He rolled himself back from the cauldron to the workbench to cut the next batch of ingredients when it happened: he had to stop to catch his breath.

Snape tilted his head back against his chair and cursed. He had always been able to brew fast and efficiently, even in the middle of the night after he had just suffered a round of Cruciatus. Why not now? He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing.

When he felt he had enough air in his lungs, he started on the Angelica roots, but had to catch his breath again before he was finished. He gritted his teeth and slowed down his movements until he felt like Neville Longbottom on his worst day. Not so long ago, it would have taken him less than a minute to slice the roots perfectly, now it took him almost five. Here he was, he, who had been applauded for his speed when he was still studying for his mastery, forced to be held back by his own blasted body.

He slowly sliced the next ingredient. Horned slugs, how fitting. He scowled down at them. Behind him, the potion bubbled. Snape swore under his breath. The ingredients he had just finished slicing should have been added already. He turned, pushed himself to the cauldron as quickly as he could, and dropped the slugs in. He counted five stirs counterclockwise. The potion turned magenta, as it should, but it was a few shades too dark. Snape was close to snapping the stirring rod in half. With proper handling and no more mistakes, it would not have to be a problem, but, he looked at the clock: he had only fifteen minutes before the next few ingredients had to be added. In the past that would have been enough, but now he wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t even started slicing them yet. How on earth was he going to manage that?

Well, he had to try anyway. He moved back to the table as fast as him body would allow him and set to work. Three minutes later, he hadn’t even finished the second batch of Horned slugs. He would not make it.

He felt ready to bang his head on the cauldron. He couldn’t do it. Not like this. He considered leaving the lab, but he was certain Baker would call the Aurors if he did. She would certainly alert them if he ruined the potion. There was only one thing for it: he had to ask for help. He gritted his teeth. He had never needed help with potions in his life, let alone with such a simple one. But he had no choice.

“Ms. Baker?”

Baker, tending to two potions at the same time with an ease that Snape envied, strode over to him and crossed her arms. “What is it?”

“I need an Invigoration Draught.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Of course she would ask. He clenched his jaw and nodded at the potion. “Because I will not be able to brew otherwise.”

Baker walked to the cauldron and looked down at it with a frown and pursed lips. Snape flinched when she turned to him with slightly narrowed eyes. This potion would still be usable, if less potent than it could have been, but what if she thought that he had tampered with it?"

“The colour is off.”

“I am aware.” Snape looked away. “I cannot work fast enough.”

“And you did not think to ask for help before you started?” Baker’s voice was cold.

Snape gritted his teeth. “You were the one who asked for my assistance.”

Baker glared at him.

“Well?” Snape said. “This potion will be unusable in a few minutes.”

“Very well,” she said after a few moments of silence. “I will give you the benefit of the doubt because you called me in time. But you will get only one more chance. I will give you an Invigoration Draught, but your next attempt had better be perfect.”

Snape nodded. “Thank you,” he said through gritted teeth.

She summoned the potion for him and hurried away again. Snape downed it in one gulp and waited with his eyes closed for it to kick in. What a difference it made! His limbs felt lighter, he himself - more energetic. It had been awhile since he had last felt this good. Maybe he could even get out of this blasted hovering chair, but he decided not to try his luck. He still needed to brew that perfect potion after all.

He turned and looked at the ingredients. Perfect, it would have to be perfect. His stomach clenched. Not even that long ago, that would not have been a challenge at all with such a simple potion, but now… Well, there was nothing for it. He stretched his arms above his head and drew the cutting board towards him. He only had seven minutes left. He had work to do.

It turned out, the Draught made all the difference in the world. He took care not to go too fast, but he soon found a speed he could keep up. He was quickly engrossed in the work again and made sure to keep his stirring light and even to counteract the too dark shade. He even had some time left at the end to clean his working station. He gave the potion one last stir when he was done and watched as it turned the right shade of red. Perfect.

Baker walked over and checked the potion. She only nodded and levitated the cauldron on the table. Snape felt a pang in his chest, but he ignored it, willing his face blank. He refused to feel disappointed with Baker’s lack of response. He had been able to brew the potion in his sleep as a twelve-year-old, surely he didn’t need any praise for accomplishing it now.

Baker drove him to his room without uttering a word and left before Smethwyck had arrived, so that Snape had to roll to his bed himself and had to wait for what felt like half an hour before he could be helped out of his clothes.

Just when he was sitting in bed, he saw Potter come in. Merlin, he had almost forgotten about that. With a sigh, he put his book away and watched with a frown as Potter made his way to his bed with the help of a walking stick. Had the brat found a new way of seeking attention? Well, he would not get it from him.

Potter sat down in the chair next to his bed with a wince, but smiled lightly when he saw Snape looking at him.

“Evening. How are you?”

Snape scowled. “Fine.”

“Good.” Potter smiled. “You know, today I- ”

“Potter,” Snape interrupted him, “kindly shut up and get on with it. I have no desire for idle chatter.”

Potter’s face fell. Snape looked away and refused to feel guilty. The boy knew how he was. He only had himself to blame for feeling hurt.

“Fine,” Potter sighed. “Look at me?”

Snape turned his head and glared. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Potter just lifted his head high and stared at him. Snape stared right back. The boy was such an open book. Snape could see all that anger and disappointment without effort. He checked his mental shields. Luckily, it turned out, he could keep them up much better now that he felt more energised. He strengthened them. Much better. Now the boy’s feelings would not affect him so.

For the first time, it was Potter who averted his gaze first. He sighed. “Night,” he murmured without looking at Snape and hobbled off. Snape stared after him and told himself he had absolutely nothing to feel guilty for.

He did not sleep well that night, with the Draught still in his system. When all was quiet, he transfigured the bowl and pointed his wand at his stomach. Merlin, he was utterly useless. He hadn’t even managed a simple painkilling potion without help. He put more force behind the spell than usual and saw some blood mixed in with the bile. It was necessary, he told himself, to get the Invigoration Draught out of his system as well. If it also hurt more than usual, well then, that was nothing less than he deserved.

*

He felt terrible the next day. His limbs were heavy and all he could do was sprawl out and stare at the ceiling for most of the day, until Smethwyck forced some food down his throat and drove him to the lab again. Just like yesterday, the ingredients had already been laid out, although this time, there was also a phial of Invigoration Draught. He downed it immediately and set to work. The potion was, once again, basic and he managed it without further difficulty. Baker brought him back afterwards and Snape had his staring session with Potter. At night, he removed the medicine from his system once more. He kept this routine up for the next few days and all seemed to be well. That was, until the Auror decided to pay him another visit.

*

“Is he ready now?” Snape once again woke up to the familiar rough voice. He sneered.

Smethwyck cast the diagnostic spell again and scanned the scroll with a frown. “No. He seems to be worse.”

Well, Snape sure felt that way. Maybe he had been a bit over enthusiastic with the spell recently. Breathing already hurt.

“Impossible.” The Auror glared at Snape.

“He was better yesterday.” Smethwyck looked down on Snape.

“Are you sure he is not sabotaging your efforts?”

Smethwyck looked thoughtful. “I cannot guarantee it.”

“Bring me his wand,” The Auror commanded.

Snape felt the blood drain from his face and suppressed the urge to groan. Damn, damn, damn! He should have known they would start to suspect something at some point, he should have been much more careful.

Smethwyck frowned. “He is assisting in the laboratory. Completely approved, of course, we have consulted all the proper channels. He needs his wand for that, doesn't he?"

The corner of Snape’s mouth twitched. This may be one the first time that he appreciated having a Healer who wanted to see him get better by all means possible.

The Auror glared at him. “Fine. But only then. I want you to keep it at all other times.”

Snape scowled. That fool of an Auror was smarter than he looked.

Smethwyck pursed his lips. “Yes, of course.”

“Do it.” The Auror nodded. He waited until Smethwyck had taken the wand. “Very well. Until next week.”

Snape glared at the Auror when he left. If he had had his wand, a well-timed Sectusempra would have done the job. He had improved the spell enough since he had first written it down to know how to bleed the victims to death slowly and painfully, until they either died from anemia or choked on the blood from their internal wounds. If he had only had his wand. 

*

Snape sulked all day long. It was not that he needed his wand often here, but his bedside table looked empty without it. At times, he wanted to run his fingers over the polished wood, feel the spark of magic, just to assure himself everything was fine. He almost panicked every time he found it wasn’t there, until he realised why and glared at Smethwyck. Without it, he felt like that ten-year-old boy again, cowering in a corner because his father was shouting at him. Useless, uncertain, weak. When Smethwyck brought him to the lab and handed him his wand back, he snatched it from him with an angry scowl.

In the lab, the ingredients were already laid out for him, as usual. It looked like he had to brew a muscle-building potion, commonly used for patients who had to stay in bed for a long period of time. He had to take it himself. Well, at least he would feel better to know he would be ingesting his own potion during breakfast from now on. Snape downed the Invigoration Draught and set to work. It really was so much easier while medicated. He wasn’t back to normal yet, he would need a stronger potion for that, but he was managing without having to pause every now and then. 

Afterwards, Baker pushed him back to his room, as usual. As he handed his wand back to Smethwyck with gritted teeth, he realised something. Potter would come here soon for their ‘therapy’, but he hated doing it here with Smethwyck walking in at all times. There was no chance of that in Potter’s room. Why shouldn’t he go there instead? He felt well enough to do so now.

“Wait,” he said when Smethwyck drove him towards his bed. “Bring me to Potter’s room.”

Smethwyck turned the chair around. “That’s a good idea.”

They headed to Potter’s room, which was only a short walk away. Snape knocked and swung the door open when there was an answer from inside. Smethwyck pushed him in and parked him next to the bed, where Potter reclined. He looked up with a look of surprise on his face.

“Good evening.”

Potter blinked. “Why are you here?”

“Mr. Snape wanted to spare you the trouble of walking,” Smethwyck said with a smile before Snape had had the time to open his mouth. When he saw Potter’s grin, he decided to let them both believe whatever they wanted.

Smethwyck bent over Snape and fussed with the wheels. “I want you to be back before elven.”

Snape scowled. It had been decades since he’d had a curfew. 

“I will take him,” Potter said.

Smethwyck straightened, nodded at Potter and left.

Snape looked around. Potter’s room was much smaller than his, which was surprising. Everything was just as white though. The walls, the floor, the sheets.

Potter sat up on his bed and swung his legs over the edge. “Do I need to help you out of that chair?”

Snape glared at him. “Absolutely not. I am fine where I am.”

“Right,” Potter said. “Would you like something to drink? I can offer you... water, water, water and, er, painkiller?”

Snape looked at the phial Potter held up. His eyebrow arched. He hadn’t been aware Potter was a recipient of his potions. “I am fine, thank you.” He said, still staring at the phial. Considering the amount of empty phials on Potter’s nightstand, he was on the maximum dose. What did Potter need it for? Was something the matter with his eyes? Was that why there were so many black dots in them?

“So, I heard you are brewing for St Mungo’s?”

Snape sneered. Was the boy really attempting small talk? “Yes.” 

Potter nodded. “I told Claire to ask you.”

Snape turned his head towards him sharply. So this had all been Potter’s fault. Typical. 

“She’s doing all that research for me and she was complaining about having too little time to brew.” Potter smiled, unaware of Snape’s inner turmoil.

“I see,” he said tersely.

They were quiet for a while.

“So,” Potter said casually, “could we look at each other again?”

“That is why I’m here,” Snape said coolly.

Potter merely rolled his eyes and leant forward.

Snape stared at the eyes he knew so well by now. Or so he thought. They truly looked less and less like Lily’s by the day. It was because of the black dots, Snape told himself. Not only had they grown, there were now a few more of them in both eyes. Snape frowned. He had never heard of a curse that could affect human eyes like this. He kept staring. It was much easier to do this with his mental shields up. Maybe Potter even had less nightmares if he kept this for up longer.

Again, Potter averted his eyes first.

“So, do you want to-”

“I have to go.”

“Oh.” Potter looked almost disappointed. “Shall I take you back?”

“You can hardly walk by yourself.”

“I will manage.” Potter had a determined expression on his face. “You need help getting back either way.”

“Ever the saviour,” Snape drawled.

Potter ignored him. He stood up with some difficulty, hobbled towards Snape and gripped the back of Snape’s hovering chair. “I think I’ll be fine if I use the chair to lean on. Can you hold my cane?”

Snape nodded and placed it on his lap. Potter started pushing him out of the door slowly. “See? It’s fine.”

He pushed them through a corridor. Snape flinched every time the chair halted, afraid Potter had exerted himself.

When they turned another corner, a last long, and remarkably empty, corridor, stretched itself out before them. He heard Potter move and felt his breath in his ear. “Hey, Professor, have you ever tried a hovering chair race?”

“What?” Snape barked when the hovering chair was pushed a little faster than before and looked over his shoulder. “Are you mad?”

“No.” Potter was grinning. “I think it's a brilliant idea.”

“Absolutely not!” Snape said.

“Oh, come on,” Potter said. “We are in a hospital, might as well make it fun.”

“No, and I will hit you with your cane if you try.”

“Spoilsport,” Potter mumbled, which Snape chose to ignore.

They entered Snape’s room. Potter sat down on a chair to rest and politely looked away while Snape was helped out of his chair and into his bed.

Potter left shortly after.

*

That night, Snape didn’t have his wand to set an alarm. He was so tense that he wouldn’t wake in time, that he hardly slept at all. It was with some relief that he finally noted the lack of footsteps in the corridor.

But how was he going to do this? He could probably cast the spell wandless, but he wasn’t sure he could transfigure a bowl without his wand. A few tries later and he knew that he couldn’t. Well, he supposed he would have to do it on the floor then and clean it up later.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on directing the energy inwards. He only gagged. He tried the spell again, and this time, it worked. He hung over the side of the bed and threw it all out. 

However, when he was done, he was so tired that he barely managed to move back into bed. Snape stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the awful smell and catch his breath. Once again, he felt as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. A wandless cleaning spell was out of the question now. Merlin, would he have to stay like this all night? And what if Smethwyck found him like this in the morning? 

Maybe he could sleep for an hour and try afterwards? But what if he didn’t wake in time? No, he would have to keep trying. With some effort, he rolled onto his side again. He wished he could cover his nose somehow.

He closed his eyes and lay still, trying to find if he had any energy left. He focused on his breathing, calming it down. After a while, when he felt a tiny bit better, he collected all the energy he had left and cast. He passed out before he could see if it had been enough. His last thought was that he didn’t think he could do this again.

*

Next day, he woke feeling almost worse than when he was first brought in. Smethwyck had to hoist him up and feed him, because he couldn’t do anything but stare at the ceiling. Opening his mouth was already exhausting. Smethwyck was frowning and doused him with even more potions than usual. Snape went back to sleep afterwards. 

In the evening, when he was feeling somewhat better, Smethwyck gave him his wand back and brought him to the lab, where the Draught was already waiting. He felt better after he had drank it.

When he was done, Baker brought him back to his room. Smethwyck was waiting and stretched out his hand. Snape handed him his wand with an irritated scowl. Then, he was pushed to Potter’s room.

They didn’t talk much this time. Potter leant forwards and Snape looked at him. There were definitely more dark dots in his eyes now, there was no denying it anymore. Snape studied them, wondering what on earth could cause such an infliction. 

Potter broke the eye contact first. He sighed. “I wish you would stop shielding. I won’t try anything, I swear.”

“What?” Snape blinked.

Potter folded his arms. “Don’t think I don’t notice. You are occluding. Your eyes look dead.”

Snape scowled. “Why would that bother you?”

“It’s unfair! I’m trying to open up to you, but you still don’t trust me.”

“As I’ve told you before, life isn’t fair,” Snape said coolly. “I’m only doing this to help you. If you don’t want this anymore, I wouldn’t mind putting an end to this nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” Potter exclaimed. “I thought it was helping you too!”

“Hardly.”

“You are lying.”

Snape sneered. “Don’t you dare presume what I….”

“Oh shut up.” Potter glared at him. “It is helping you. You are just too afraid to open up to me. Coward.”

Snape saw red. Without thinking, he unsteadily rose from his hovering chair and lunged at Potter. “I’m not the one who is hiding in a hospital,” he hissed. “At least I’m really ill.”

Potter’s face reddened. “I’m fucking dying, Snape!”

His hands on Potter’s shoulders, ready to shake him, stilled. Everything stilled. He felt as if he had been moving fast for years and was now coming to a sudden halt. The sounds of footsteps in the corridor sounded strangely hollow, as if they were coming from far away. His hands didn’t look like they belonged to him. Potter himself, pupils blown wide and panting, was a stranger.

Snape stared at Potter. The first that came out was a croaked: “What?” He knew he had said the word, but it took a few seconds before his ears heard it. And even then it sounded as if it had had to travel through a wall first

“I’m dying,” Potter repeated, softly.

Snape let go of Potter’s shoulders and dropped down in his hovering chair. His eyes never leaving Potter’s face. “I see.”

Potter looked down at his hands. “I thought you knew.”

“I did not.”

“Oh.”

Snape was still staring. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was as if he had never looked properly at the boy before, had never really seen his scar, the pink flush on his skin, the dark lashes. Not even during their eye contact sessions. “Why?”

Potter was fidgeting. “My soul is breaking apart.”

“I see.” Snape was quiet, then, after a moment, “that explains your- ” he gestured towards Potter’s face “- eyes.”

Potter looked up and smiled wryly. “Yeah. That’s how we figured out what was going on.”

“How long?”

Potter winced. “Dunno. They’ve never seen anything like this. It’s going faster now though, so a few weeks?”

A few weeks? Had Potter so little time left to live? Snape blinked a few times. His life had revolved around Potter for so long, he could not even begin to imagine a world without him.

“Can they do anything?”

Potter dropped down on is bed and stared unseeing at the ceiling. “Probably not. They know very little about souls. They are trying to glue my soul back together, but they don’t know how, or if it is even possible.”

Of course they did not. Incompetent fools, the lot of them. “What have they tried?”

“We started with the remorse thing. I told them that remorse is supposed to heal your soul, but it didn’t work. I didn’t even know what I had to feel sorry for. Riddle’s death maybe?” Potter’s face scrunched up.

Snape snorted. “Certainly not. What else?”

“Dunno. Ms. Baker is now working on a potion, but it is experimental and -”

“Ms. Baker!”

“Huh?” Potter looked surprised at Snape’s exclamation.

Snape was scowling. Baker. Of course. She was working on ‘Potter’s case’, as she had called it. From what he had just gathered, she didn’t know the first thing about souls. If he left it to her, Potter would never leave this blasted hospital alive. He had to go and see what she was doing. He turned the hovering chair and drove to the door. Not fast enough, not bloody fast enough! The thing was too heavy. Without thinking, he stood up from the chair, on slightly shaky legs, and grabbed Potter’s cane.

“Hey!”

Snape ignored him. He took a few unsteady steps. His legs were working. Now he just had to go on walking. Out the door, to the left, a little faster. Down one corridor, down the next, faster still. Stop. 

A knock. 

He was pacing. Baker had better still be in the lab or he would blast the door off its hinges, wand or not. He knocked harder, almost pounded now. 

The door opened.


	3. Chapter 3

Baker’s surprised face peered out of the open door, but her expression soon turned to irritated when she saw who it was. “What - ”

“Potter told me he is dying.”

Baker stared at him. “Did he now?”

Snape ignored her sarcastic tone. “You are researching for a cure. How far along are you? Tell me.”

Baker stepped out of the door and crossed her arms. “That is none of your concern.”

Snape stopped pacing. “None of my concern?” he hissed. “Potter has been my concern since he was one year old! Now tell me what you know.”

“Absolutely not! Other than that I will not break my Hippocratic oath, I’m not going to share my findings with someone who is not directly involved with the research, least of all someone like you.”

“A Death Eater?” Snape sneered.

Baker scowled right back. “Someone who is out to kill Mr. Potter.”

“Kill Potter? You think I want to kill him?” Snape was ready to grip her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. “Use your brain, woman! He just told me that he is dying from a yet incurable infliction. If I wanted him dead, I could have saved myself the trouble of coming here and just sat down to wait.”

Baker blinked a few times, at loss for words, but then she caught herself and glared at him. “Then why are you here?”

“I’ve been trying to keep that blasted boy alive since the first time he set foot into Hogwarts. I’m not going to stop now. I won’t let him die just because he’s stopped being useful,” Snape spat.

Baker raised an eyebrow. “Even if that’s true, it is not your place to help him. You should leave it to the professionals. You may have a degree in Potions, but you are a teacher, not a researcher.”

Snape clenched his jaw. “I did plenty of research in my spare time.”

Baker snorted loudly. “As if that counts.”

“And what have you done so far?” Snape sneered. “Read a few books? Brewed some potions without an inkling of what you were doing? Refusing help when it is offered? Excuse me, Ms. Baker, but that hardly sounds professional to me.”

Baker’s face hardened. “It is still more than you have done!”

For the first time in the conversation, Snape looked away.

“What?” Baker taunted. “Angry that a mudblood is doing better than you?”

Snape winced. Merlin, he hated that word. He glared at her. “Since I wasn’t aware you were muggleborn, that could hardly have been an issue.”

Baker snorted. “I don’t believe you.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “I have better things to do than research the pedigree of everyone I meet. Now, let me in.”

“No.”

Snape gritted his teeth and glared at her. The woman was grating on his nerves. Potter was out of time, didn’t she see that? A shouting match in the corridor was hardly productive. “You need help, I can give it. I know that Potter’s soul is disintegrating, very likely because he served as a living horcrux for the Dark Lord. As it is, I am familiar with horcruxes.”

Baker looked surprised. “You know?”

“Yes, Albus told me. As I said, I did look out for Potter’s welfare for years.”

Baker’s gaze hardened again. “How do I know you are telling the truth?”

Snape sighed. “I will research the situation regardless. However, if we work together, we can share and combine our findings.” And you can keep an eye on me, he didn’t add, he was sure she would draw that conclusion herself.

She considered him. “I will not give you Mr. Potter’s medical details.”

“I will acquire them from Potter himself when necessary. Now, are you going to let me in?”

Baker gave him one hard look, then stepped aside. Snape hobbled in.

*

Once inside, Baker lead him to a table with a pile of books on it. Snape took a chair and sat down. She shoved a book towards him. “Start with this.”

Snape looked at her. “What, exactly, is your plan?”

“You wanted to help. I was going to read this, but I’m also working on a potion that requires all my attention. It would save me time if you read it and reported to me afterwards.”

Snape snorted. “Unless you expect me to read the whole book to you, it would help to know what I’m looking for.”

“I can’t tell you. I would abuse Mr. Potter’s trust if I did,” Baker said coolly.

Snape breathed in deeply through his nose. “I have to know more before I can be of assistance.”

“You are the one who insinuated himself into my research.”

Snape gritted his teeth. “Listen to me, we both want to cure Mr. Potter. To do so successfully, we will have to fill each other in on what we know.”

Baker crossed her arms. “Fine, you start.”

Snape glared at her, but he also knew that fighting was not going to help matters. If he truly wanted to cure Potter, he would have to set his personal feelings aside and at least attempt to cooperate. So he told her what he had heard about horcruxes from Albus, what he had picked up from the Dark Lord and from Potter himself. Baker drew a quill and a piece of parchment towards her and started writing.

“Thank you,” she said when he was finished. “I already knew most of what you told me, but it is good to have it confirmed from another source.”

Snape inclined his head. “Your turn.”

Baker stared at him and pressed her lips together into a thin line.

Snape sighed. “As I’ve already mentioned, if I wanted Mr. Potter dead, I would simply sit and wait. I would not have come here, nor would I have bothered to help him with his nightmares. Apart from that, I’m practically a prisoner here. You, Smethwyck and the Aurors are keeping a close eye on me. I’m not even allowed to have my wand on me anymore. What could I possibly do with the information?”

Baker sighed. “Oh very well,” she said. “We are fairly certain that the separation of You-Know-Who’s horcrux from Mr. Potter is what caused the problems, since his symptoms began shortly after. As for the exact cause, we can only guess. We believe that the horcrux may have acted as a parasite. It must have sucked Mr. Potter’s soul completely dry to survive. When it was removed, there was nothing left to keep Mr. Potter’s soul together, which is why it is disintegrating.”

Snape nodded and took some notes himself. “I see. What was your next step?”

“That is where the difficulties began,” Baker sighed. “We are looking for something that can act as a glue, but we have no idea what it could be.”

Snape nodded again. “That sounds like a reasonable course of action. What else?”

“Nothing.” Baker pushed the book towards him again, along with some pieces of parchment full with scribbles. “Read.”

And so he read. He skimmed Baker’s notes and the book. And another one after that. He scribbled down page after page and pointed Baker to interesting passages when he came across them. At some point, when it became difficult to read, she handed him a Invigoration Draught. Snape took it with a nod and downed it. Then he read more. Around eleven, someone knocked. An agitated Smethwyck, it turned out, as Baker opened the door. Snape had no idea what she told him, but he left shortly afterwards.

Smethwyck returned a few hours later and did not budge this time, so Snape gritted his teeth and went with him, promising Baker to be back as soon as he could. He grabbed Potter’s cane and hobbled after Smethwyck without speaking a word, his head still filled with information.

It was only when he was in bed, that he realised he hadn’t had time for his night routine yet. Would he do it now? He remembered how bad he had felt last night. He could not afford that now. He had to be back in the lab as soon as he could. Surely it would not be so bad to skip a night, would it?

*

He woke up the next morning feeling better than he had done in weeks. For the first time since he had been in hospital, he could eat some of his breakfast without help. It felt like a big accomplishment. Afterwards he read a book Baker had allowed him to take and returned to the lab as soon as he felt strong enough to do so. Baker was there already (he was starting to believe she did not sleep), working on a potion. He sat down and asked her what she was brewing.

“Something that could, hopefully, act as a glue,” Baker said.

Snape hobbled towards her and peered over her shoulder. The potion inside was an eerie blue and so insubstantial, it looked more like a gas than a liquid. “How is this supposed to work?”

“Well,” Baker said, “there’s so little known about souls, I don’t even know where it is located. I believe it might be everywhere in the body, so a potion that is ingested may not work. This potion should enter the body through the pores, so that it can reach everywhere at once.”

“I see,” Snape said. “I assume Mr. Potter will have to bathe in it?”

Baker stirred the blue gas a few times. “Yes.”

“What have you used?”

“Ah,” Baker sighed, “I haven’t been able to find a recipe for this, so this potion is of my own invention. I have no idea whether it will work. At the moment, it contains dragon’s breath, hippogriff feathers, Peruvian vipertooth venom and a few threads of a Dementor's cloak. I hope these will stabilise the soul.”

Snape nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I can see the sense in using these ingredients. However, have you considered Phoenix tears?”

“Phoenix tears?” Baker exclaimed. “Merlin, no! That would have been a good one, but- ” She looked at her potion mournfully “- those should have been added to the initial base.”

“Not if you add them as a gas, although they will become less potent if you do.”

Baker turned to look at him. “Is that possible?”

“Yes.” Snape inclined his head. “If you heat them slowly in a closed space.”

“Thank you,” Baker said and smiled at him for the first time in their short acquaintance. “Let me try. Have you discovered anything else?”

Snape gave her a short summary of his readings, which had hardly contained anything interesting. Baker nodded and gave him another book. A few hours later, she asked for his help with the heating of the tears, so Snape did it for her and together they added them to the brew. Baker continued stirring and Snape brewed a few more painkillers. It truly was a lot easier now that he felt better. When he was done, he decided he had to pay Potter a visit.

*

Since Baker couldn’t tell him more about Potter’s symptoms, he would ask Potter himself. He hobbled to the boy’s room and found Potter there, staring out of the window, in the hovering chair.

“I can’t walk anymore,” he said without turning when Snape entered.

Snape paused. “I see.”

“Why did you run out so fast yesterday?”

“I have offered my services to Ms. Baker and am currently aiding in the research, which is why I’ve come. I hope you can tell me about your symptoms.”

“Sure,” Potter said.

Snape hobbled to the window and sat down next to him. “What are you feeling?”

Potter sighed. “Fatigue, mostly, and some pain, everywhere. My muscles are getting weaker, as you can see.” He stared out of the window again.

Snape looked at him closely. “You have more dots.”

“Yes, it is accelerating,” Potter smiled bitterly. “Eventually, my irises will turn completely black, like yours.”

“Indeed.” Snape looked away. Like his. Well, it was fitting. He didn’t know what the state of his own soul was, but he was fairly certain it was far from pure.

They were both staring out of the window for a while. There was not much to see, only the wall from another wing. Snape considered asking the Healers to spell the window so that Potter would have something to look at.

“Can we still do the eye contact therapy?” Potter asked.

Snape turned his head towards him. “If you wish.”

“Yes,” Potter said. “It helps me… deal with it all.”

Snape nodded. “Very well.”

Potter turned his head and looked at him.

Snape made sure to lower his shields this time, not completely, but some. The boy deserved that at least. He stared at Potter’s strange, speckled eyes. They had a soft, but also somewhat frightened look. They were nothing like Lily’s anymore.

Potter stared at him intensely, then blushed. He quickly averted his gaze.

Snape frowned. “Are you unwell?”

“Just tired,” Potter mumbled. “Will you come back tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Snape stood up with some difficulty and leant on the cane when he walked unsteadily towards the door. “Good night.”

"Night," Potter answered softly. 

*

This routine continued for a few days. Snape would go to the lab to do research with Baker, who had become more pleasant since he had helped her with the gas potion, even though the first attempt at using it had been unsuccessful. Afterwards, he stared into Potter’s eyes, then returned to the lab and went back to his room around midnight. He had turned into the ideal patient. He took all his potions obediently and did not get rid of them at night anymore, so he was slowly getting better. He was not happy with it, since it was only a matter of time before the Aurors would get a note of his improved state, but he would be useless to Potter if he was unwell himself. So until he found another solution, he allowed himself to heal.

It was one morning, after he had just had breakfast, when the routine was interrupted.

“Mr. Snape? A visitor for you.” It was Smethwyck.

Snape, who was pouring over a heavy tome in the chair next to his bed, looked up to glare at whomever had taken him away from his work. It was a woman, dressed in formal robes, without a single hair out of place.

She offered her hand, Snape shook it.

“Mr. Snape?” When Snape nodded, she continued with a high, melodious voice. “I’m Ann Bassett, your solicitor. Since you seem to be on the mend, it is time to start thinking about your defence.”

Ah, so the Ministry had appointed a solicitor. Snape glared at her.

“I take it you know what I do?”

Snape nodded.

“Good. Now, it’s common knowledge that you were a Death Eater and have committed various crimes in that position. However, that is for the accuser to prove. I’m only concerned with the other side of the story. I’ve heard rumours about you being a spy for the late Headmaster Dumbledore. Is there - ”

“I don’t have time for this.”

She blinked. “Mr. Snape,” she said. “Your trial might be very soon. I understand it can be overwhelming, but it is good time to start preparing.”

Snape snorted. He was sure she only wanted to work with him because it would look good on her CV if she managed to defend a notorious Death Eater successfully. Besides, he really didn’t have the time for this. He gave her one look, and turned back to his book. The solicitor tried to talk to him some more, but gave up when nothing was forthcoming and left with a sigh.

*

After a day of working on the second version of the gas potion, he was visiting Potter again, later in the evening than he usually did. The boy was deteriorating rapidly. His eyes were now more black than green and he could not get out of his bed without help anymore. Right now, they were sitting in front of the window. Potter was staring at the sky with a slight smile on his face. His strange, speckled eyes glistened like silver in the moonlight. 

Potter suddenly turned his head and looked at Snape directly. Not too long ago, he would have flinched and looked away, but now he was so used to staring into Potter’s eyes, that he welcomed it. 

“Have you ever been to the café here?”

“No.” Snape hadn’t even been aware there was a café at all.

“There is one downstairs, mostly for visitors, but they aren’t here now anyway. Can we go? It’s probably closed, but it’s relaxing to sit there and the hospital is nice and quiet at night.”

Snape smirked. “Have been wandering around a lot at night, haven’t you?”

Potter grinned. “Yes, when I had nightmares and couldn’t sleep.”

“I see.”

Potter met his eyes and smiled. “The eye gazing really helped with that though. Thank you.”

Snape almost, almost, smiled himself. “Don’t mention it.”

“So can we go?”

Snape looked at him, then nodded. If Potter had such a humble wish as to go for a stroll, he could hardly say no to that. He stood up, still with some difficulty, and stretched. Then he gripped the back of Potter’s hovering chair and started pushing.

“First in the elevator and then left,” Potter commanded.

Snape obliged without a word.

When they had turned left, they arrived in a long, empty corridor. Potter turned around with a grin. “Hey, can we do the hovering chair racing now?”

“What?”

“Everyone is always so careful with me these days. I’d like to do something wild.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “It will hardly be wild, Potter. I can barely walk myself as it is.”

“Please?”

Snape closed his eyes for a second. He wanted to refuse, he really did, but what right did he have to refuse a dying man? “Very well.”

He pushed the hovering chair a little faster than he had done before, testing how his legs would hold. When they did well, he went faster, jogging now. Potter seemed to be smiling. He sped up. Now he was moving in a slow run, pushing Potter through the corridor. They had to look quite odd. He was running. He didn’t think he could go any faster, but Potter was grinning. Snape kept running. Potter laughed and spread his arms wide. A breeze caught his hair and made it fly in all directions. Snape stared at it, a smile tugging at his own lips. When they reached the end of the corridor, Snape suddenly made a sharp turn, which made Potter gasp, then laugh harder.

They reached the café. Snape slowed down and parked the hovering chair near the first table he saw and sat down, catching his breath. He looked around. They were the only ones here. It really was a nice spot. It gave them a good view of the fountain in the middle of the hall. The sound of running water was calming.

Potter was smiling still. “Thanks, that was fun.”

“You are welcome.” Snape panted.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m merely unused to running through hospital corridors.”

“Could have fooled me,” Potter said with a teasing smile. “You were good at it.”

Snape send him a glare, but even he knew it was half-hearted at best, and Potter didn’t seem bothered by it in the least.

“So,” Potter put his elbows on the table and leant towards him. “What are you going to do when you get out of here?”

Snape sobered up immediately looked away. He should have known this question would come at some point.

“Snape?”

“I don’t know,” he answered quietly.

“Why not?” Potter seemed genuinely surprised.

Snape snorted. “In case you weren’t aware, Potter, I’m a wanted criminal. As soon as I set a foot outside, a team of Aurors will be waiting to arrest me. And after that I’ll very likely be sent to Azkaban. The prospect is hardly appealing.”

Potter covered his hand with his own lightly. Snape stared at it. “You won’t be sent to Azkaban. You were on our side. There’s proof. You’ll be fine.”

Snape looked away. “That’s not my main concern.”

“Then what?”

Snape sighed and closed his eyes. “I don’t know what to do. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been a teacher most of my life, just so I had a cover for my work for the order. However, there is no need for my services as a spy anymore and I doubt anyone is going to want me back at Hogwarts. I’m useless.”

“Hey, look at me.” Snape felt a hand on his chin and his face was turned towards Potter. He wanted to glare and shout, but he did not have the energy for it. Instead, he opened his eyes and looked at Potter’s kind ones.

“You are not useless,” Potter stated and dropped his hand to squeeze Snape’s. “You’re great with potions, you’re intelligent, you’re helping me. I’m sure you can find something.”

Snape snorted. “I doubt it.”

“Is there anything you’d like to do?”

Snape looked down. “I’ve never given it much thought.”

“You are not useless.” Potter repeated. “You are not. Not to me at least, for what it’s worth.”

They were quiet after that and stayed at the café for what felt like hours, thinking, listening to the sounds of running water. It was a long while before either of them realised Potter’s hand was still covering Snape’s. 

When they finally decided to return to their rooms and Snape was pushing Potter back to his, he realised he hadn’t breathed this easily in a long time.

*

A few days later, while Baker was working on the third version of the blue potion, Snape was poring over another book. There was still so much they didn’t know. 

Snape had his own theory though. He doubted the horcrux had sucked Potter’s soul dry. If it had, Potter’s soul would have disintegrated at some point regardless and then the horcrux would have sabotaged itself. No, it was more likely that Potter’s soul had already been disintegrating, possibly because of the Killing Curse he had been subjected to as a baby, and the horcrux was the only thing holding it together. It that was the case, Potter merely needed another soul to anchor his. And Snape knew just the person to do that.

*

“Potter, you need another horcrux.”

He had just stormed into Potter’s room. Potter, who was lying on his bed, looked up. “What?”

“To hold your soul together,” Snape clarified.

Potter stared at him with open mouth. “How would you even do that?”

“The process is fairly simple. I can perform it now.”

Potter blinked. “You would do it? No, no way! You won't make that sacrifice for me.”

Snape sat down on the edge of Potter’s bed. “It won’t matter much in the long run.”

Potter struggled to get up, but failed. Instead, he glared at Snape. “Yes, it will. I don’t want to have someone else’s soul in me again. Find another solution.”

Snape closed his eyes. “We may not find another one in time.”

“Then so be it.”

“But - ”

“No, I don’t want to hear it. You cannot make me.” Potter crossed his arms over his chest.

“But,” Snape swallowed, “then there’s a high chance that you will die soon.”

“I know.” Potter bit his lip. “I’ve always known that I would die young. This is just in a different way than I expected.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” Snape whispered.

“You could hold me.”

“What?” Now it was Snape’s turn to be baffled.

“Come here and hold me, please?”

“Why?”

Potter fidgeted with his blanket. “I’m cold.”

Snape didn’t even think about it. He lowered himself behind Potter, who did seem to be shivering, and wrapped an arm around him.

“Yeah, like that,” Potter sighed.

Snape lay there, behind Potter, his arms around a warm body, and closed his eyes. The rhythmic rise and fall of Potter’s chest made him drift away. Without meaning to, his arm fell down until was wrapped around Potter’s hips. He felt something hard. He opened his eyes with a start. There was no mistaking what was pressed against his arm. Quickly, he moved away. “Excuse me.”

“No, it’s all right,” Potter whispered. “You can put your arm back if you want.”

Snape wasn’t sure he wanted to, but Potter seemed to, so he did. It felt strange, to feel Potter like this. He held himself stiffly, hyper aware of the body in his arms and all the places where their skin met. Involuntarily, he tightened his hold. Potter arched into it.

“Potter,” Snape warned.

“Please?”

Snape considered it. Here he was, on a bed, with an armful of aroused Potter. Aroused because of him. He couldn’t help but feel a certain pride at the fact. And really, it was just a handjob he was asking for. Just some comfort in the face of death. Almost without thinking, he sneaked his hand under Potter’s hospital tunic and stroked the hard flesh there. In this position, it was almost like stroking himself. Something he hadn’t actually done in a long time. It was strangely comforting. He gripped it tighter, spreading some of the pre-cum over the head.

Potter shuddered in his arms. “Merlin.”

Snape added a twist to his strokes, but kept the steady movements going. Potter was arching into his hand now, moaning softly. Snape moved his hand lower and cupped the balls, massaging them softly. He was rewarded with a shout. Potter came all over his hand. Snape left it there until Potter was soft again.

Potter pushed his arse against Snape’s front. “Would you like me to do you too?”

“No,” Snape said, and buried his nose in Potter’s hair, wrapping his arms tightly around him. “It is fine.”

Potter tried to turn his head. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Potter turned his head back and sighed. 

Together they lay on the bed, the room gradually getting darker as the sun set. Snape stared at the wall and wondered why he didn’t feel bad about bringing a former student off. Not too long ago, he would never even have considered it. But now everything was different, wasn’t it? A dying man had needed relief, and he had been the only one who could offer it. No, it had been the proper course of action.

However, he had never expected to get hard himself. He was hard still, for the first time since he had been hospitalised, but he refused to do anything about it. Potter had offered to do it for him, but he had refused that too, without even thinking. Bringing a dying student off, as a favour, was one thing, but getting off himself by said student, was another thing altogether. It was improper. And yet, Potter had offered. It was not as if he couldn’t use some relief himself. But no, not now. Maybe he could accept the offer at some point in the future, when Potter wasn’t dying anymore. If that day would ever come. Well, it was unlikely to come if he remained lounging about in bed. Slowly, he extracted himself from Potter’s form. “I should go.”

“Stay,” Potter mumbled.

Snape sat up and looked down on Potter, who was struggling to turn on his back. “I still have a few hours left for research.”

“Oh.”

“Unless you have changed your mind about the horcrux.”

Potter glared at him. “No.”

Snape sighed. “The process will take less than an hour and there’s a good chance it will work.” 

Potter, on his back now, crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t care. I don’t want you to split your soul for me. Promise me you won’t. I want your word you won't try it when I’m asleep or something.”

Snape scowled. “Surely you don’t think I would perform such a radical intervention without your consent?”

“Promise.”

Snape sighed. “Fine, I won’t.”

“Good, now look at me.”

Snape lifted an eyebrow. “Demanding, are we?”

“Yes, come on.”

Snape rolled his eyes, but helped Potter sit up and lean against the headboard. He looked at Potter’s eyes. They had never sat this close to each other during those eye contact sessions, but Snape felt no urge to back away. Not even when Potter reached out to squeeze his hand.

“Can you lower your shields?”

Snape looked away. “I don’t know.”

“Please?” Potter whispered.

Snape closed his eyes and concentrated. He couldn’t remember a time he had every truly been without his shields. Keeping them up was a habit, ingrained by years of dealing with untrustworthy individuals. However, Potter was not one of them, he told himself. He concentrated and lowered them slowly, carefully, as much as he could. Then, he opened his eyes and looked back at Potter.

Potter squeezed his hand. “This is nice.”

Snape wasn’t sure he felt the same. He would have wrapped his arms around himself if Potter hadn’t been holding onto his hand. But he sat still and allowed himself to be swept up by Potter’s gaze, which still felt as if it was seeing into his very soul. Snape swallowed, but kept his eyes on Potter’s. Even now, now that Potter was seeing so much of him, his eyes were still kind. Potter was even smiling and hadn’t let go of his hand yet. Carefully, Snape squeezed back. Potter’s smile widened. 

“Potter,” Snape whispered.

“It’s Harry,” Potter said.

Snape’s throat constricted. “Harry.” He somehow managed to croak, staring at the kind gaze still, which was more black than green now. He imagined he could see more black dots appearing, and maybe he really did. “Harry,” he mumbled again and blinked a few times when the sight became a little blurry.

“It’s all right,” Harry said softly, and lifted a hand to Snape’s face, sweeping across his cheek, under his eyes, leaving a cold, wet trail in its wake.

Snape took a deep, shuddering breath and suddenly found himself in Harry’s arms. First, he stiffened, then he brought his own arms around Harry’s shoulders and embraced him. Harry rocked them both back and forth, while Snape sniffed quietly.

When Snape’s knees started to hurt, he disentangled himself from Harry’s arms. “I have to go.”

Harry smiled sadly and nodded.

Snape got up from the bed and helped Harry down and under the blankets. When he was done, he stood next to the bed and looked at down at him.

Harry looked up and met his eyes. 

Snape swallowed. There really did seem to be more black in Harry’s eyes than there had been earlier in the evening. He clenched his hands into fists. “Sleep well,” he whispered.

“Good night,” Harry said just as quietly.

Snape nodded to him and left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Once Snape had quietly closed Harry’s door, he rushed to the lab. Baker was still there. While she worked on the third version of her potion, Snape pulled a pile of books towards him and started reading. He read a few pages of one book, threw it aside and started on the next, only to do the same again and again and again. Why were all these books so useless? He stood up to see if Baker needed any assistance, and when she didn’t, he summoned a cauldron for himself and began working on an experimental potion base. Baker didn’t even ask him what he was doing.

Around midnight, there was a knock on the door. It was Smethwyck.

“You ought to go to bed,” he said.

“Absolutely not!” Snape snarled. “There’s little time left as it is.”

Smethwyck lifted an eyebrow. “You won’t be able to help Mr. Potter if you don’t sleep.”

“I can’t help him if I sleep either,” Snape bit back.

“I will look after him,” Baker said suddenly.

Smethwyck frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Baker said, “I’ll send him back when I think he’s over exerting himself.”

Smethwyck pursed his lips. “Very well then.” He looked at Snape. “Where’s your cane?”

Snape frowned. “No idea. Do you need it back?”

“No, I was just wondering.” Smethwyck nodded to Snape and turned.

“Thank you,” Snape said when the door had closed behind him.

Baker turned her head to him and smiled. “It’s nothing. You are a skilled researcher. I appreciate your help.”

Snape inclined his head and returned his attention to his potion. So far, it was progressing as he had hoped, he just had no idea if this was actually going to work. Why was there so little information about souls?

They ended up working all night long. Baker, he discovered, had made a bed for herself somewhere under a desk and took a nap there at some point. Snape tended to her potion in the meantime. When she returned, she told him to take nap as well,or she would send him back to his room. Snape scowled at her, but since he had almost lost count of his stirring a few minutes before, even he realised he needed some rest. He collapsed in Baker’s bed and fell asleep quickly.

When he woke, he found Baker sitting at a table and staring at the wall.

“Why aren’t you working?”

“There’s nothing more to do. I’m sorry, but…” Baker was hardly audible, a tear trickled down her cheek. “Mr. Potter has passed away this morning.” She buried her head in her arms, her shoulders shaking.

Snape stared at her. He felt strangely empty. The news didn’t hit him as hard as Harry’s announcement that he would die had, probably because that had been a surprise. This, on the other hand, had been expected. At every turn. Every day. Every moment. And now it was finally here, it was just… It was almost anticlimactic. He had always assumed Harry would die in some big battle, taken out by the Dark Lord himself, not alone, in a room in a hospital. He was almost more disappointed that the opportunity for research had been taken away from him. But even that was expected. Harry always threw a dent in his plans after all. Annoying little brat. To his own surprise, he had to resist the urge to smile.

He, too, sat down and stared at the wall, listening to Baker’s sobs. He remembered what he and Harry had done last night, could still feel the warm body in his arms, the cock in his palm. He lifted his hand to his nose and sniffed. Harry’s smell was there still. He closed his eyes. “Can I see him?”

“Yes.” Baker’s voice sounded weak and shaky. “‘However, we’ll have to inform his friends and family as soon as possible. I’m sure they’ll be here shortly afterwards. I can’t give you more than fifteen minutes alone with him.”

Snape opened his eyes. “That will be enough.”

They were silent for a while.

Baker was still sniffing and dabbed her face with a handkerchief. “There was little hope from the beginning, we all knew.”

“Yes.” Snape had no idea what else to say.

Baker looked up. “Go, see Mr. Potter. He is still in his room. I… Thank you.”

Snape’s throat was suddenly dry. He gave her a short nod and strode out of the door.

He went straight to Harry’s room. It was quiet there. Too quiet. He resisted the urge to tiptoe. The curtains were closed. He frowned. Harry had enjoyed looking out. He opened them and walked to the bed. Harry was on his back with his hands folded over his lap and something stuffed under his chin to keep his mouth from falling open, but he was still in his hospital attire. The Healers would probably leave the funeral rites to the Weasleys. They would make sure it would all go well.

Snape sat down on Harry’s bed, looking at him. The messy hair, the round glasses, the infamous scar. Harry’s eyes were closed and his face had a serene expression. He had probably died in his sleep, still relaxed from last night. It must have been an easy, painless death. At least he’d had that.

He touched Harry, lightly traced the scar. His skin was pale and cold. He must have been gone awhile. But he was not yet stiff. Carefully, Snape stroked a finger across the eyelids, then lifted them. He looked at the eyes. They were almost black now, with only a few specks of the familiar green left. Still, they were recognisably Harry’s, even like this, even… dead.

Snape stroked Harry’s hand, but without moving his eyes. Harry had said that it helped him if Snape looked at him. He hoped it was helping him now, wherever he was.

His fifteen minutes were almost over. He had to leave or he would run into Harry’s friends, which he had no wish to meet. He closed Harry's eyelids, stood up from the bed and walked backwards towards the door, keeping his eyes on Harry’s face for as long as he could.

When he opened the door, he was met by multiple wandpoints.

“Severus Snape, you are under arrest for siding with You-Know-Who in the war, for the murder of Albus Dumbledore and numerous other war crimes. You will be tried under Veritaserum. Hand over your wand.”

Snape wanted to argue that he didn’t have a wand on him, but before he could open his mouth, a hand came into view. A hand with his wand in it. He looked as the Auror took it and turned his head to see the culprit. Smethwyck.

Snape was not even surprised.

*

When he had been arrested, he was immediately taken to a warded room. It had a window and a bed, but it looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in years. The bedding especially smelled funny, but he had little desire for sleep anyway. He was given some food and water a few times a day, but he could hardly consider them star meals and only took a few bites. He had no appetite. A heavy weight seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the pit of his stomach and nothing else could fit there anymore.

The walls were thin enough that he could hear the sounds from the corridor and the rooms next to him. Not surprisingly, those came from the other captured Death Eaters, as he had quickly discovered. During the day, they were mostly quiet, but during the night, they would scream, bang the door, or call for the Dark Lord. Snape did not partake in any of it. He just sat and read the few things he was allowed. He did receive crumpled Daily Prophets, a day late, but mostly skimmed through them to see if there was anything about Harry. Surprisingly, there was not as much as he would have thought. Apparently someone had managed to keep the press away. But, from what there was, he could gather there would be a cremation, a choice he approved of.

He didn’t know if he felt sorry that he couldn’t attend. It was not as if anyone would want him there anyway. Him, Harry’s murderer. He was the one who had told Harry to meet his end at the Dark Lord’s wandpoint, and when that hadn’t worked, for reasons he still didn’t entirely comprehend, he had failed at finding a cure. If only he hadn’t rejected Harry the first few times he had come to his room. If only he hadn’t ignored the signs of Harry’s illness until there wasn’t any time left. If only he had worked harder once he had opened his eyes, Harry’s death could have been avoided, he was sure of it. It was entirely Snape’s fault that it had not.

He lowered the paper and stared at the wall. He lifted his fingers to his nose and thought he could smell Harry still. His mind immediately supplied him with an image of kind, green eyes, which became slowly speckled with black. He tore the paper to shreds.

*

After a few days, Bassett visited him.

“Mr. Snape,” she said by way of greeting. “Have you thought about your defence since the last time we met?” She didn’t seem unfazed by the surroundings at all. But, Snape thought, she had probably been here many times before.

“No,” he said coolly. And it was true. He hadn’t given it any thought. What was the point?

“Luckily I have,” she said with a slight smile. Snape ignored it.

“So.” She unshrunk a package from her pocket and shuffled through the papers in it. “Various people have already come forward to testify on your behalf.”

“I don’t care,” Snape said, but he wondered who those people were. It was not as if he had been open about his activities in the war.

“Excuse me?” Bassett looked genuinely surprised.

Snape drew his cloak tighter around him. “You shouldn’t bother.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Listen up, Mr. Snape,” she said. “I’m here to see the law being enforced properly, not to cater to your wishes. Whether you are guilty or not isn’t my concern. My goal is to make sure you receive the lowest sentence possible in light of the available proof.”

Snape snorted. “I am guilty. I am a Death Eater; I’ve killed people.”

Basset gave him a hard stare. “There’s a little bit more to it than that, isn’t there? I’ve viewed the memories Mr. Potter has given to Ms. Baker and-”

“What?”

She pursed her lips. “Shortly before his death, Mr. Potter has given some of his memories to Ms. Baker to be of use to you in your trial.”

Snape stared at her. Harry had done that? For him? Had the boy’s brain cells been disintegrating too? Snape had killed him! He balled his hands into fists, tightly. “Get out.”

“Sorry?”

Snape took a step towards her with his most threatening glare. “Get out, I said.”

She collected her papers hurriedly and walked out.

Snape took the plate and threw that against the wall. His glass followed. When there was nothing left to throw, he hit the wall with his fists, not stopping when his neighbour shouted at him. Potter, Potter, Potter, why was it always Potter who kicked him in the gut? Even from beyond the bloody grave. Always trying to save everyone, even when they had best be left alone. Potter, with his blasted eyes and easy smile and damn him, damn it all to hell!

After a while, the banging turned to sobbing. Snape collapsed onto the dirty bed in a heap. He cried until there wasn’t a tear left in his body.

*

The trial was a few days later. They had hurried the process in his case. From what he had understood from his neighbours, some had already been there since the final battle.

He was lead to the courtroom and bound to the chair. Snape allowed it with a stoic sneer. He sat down and looked ahead. In front of him, was a high table with three judges, as was usual in trials like these. He did not recognise them.

The judge in the middle, a bald, elderly man, spoke in a monotone voice: “We are here for the trial of Mr. Snape. He’ll be questioned under Veritaserum first. Afterwards, we’ll listen to his solicitor as well as the solicitor of the accuser. Proceed.”

Snape’s head was pushed back and three drops of veritaserum where placed on his tongue, for all to see. Snape swallowed obediently.

The judge in the middle spoke again, “Full name?”

His mouth answered immediately: “Severus Tobias Snape.”

“You’ve been teaching potions at Hogwarts since you were twenty-one?”

“Yes.”

“But you prefered Defense against the Dark Arts and applied for the position every time it was available?”

“Yes.”

“Were you involved with the Dark Lord before you started teaching?”

“Yes.”

Right into the deep end. The weren’t planning to waste any time with trivial questions today.

“As well as during?”

“Yes.”

Snape snorted. They didn’t give him many options for his answer, the bastards. If this was their idea of a fair trial, it was a strange one indeed.

“Did you join the Death Eaters when you were still in school yourself?”

“Yes.”

He wondered what Potter would do if he were here. He would probably stand up and shout at the injustice of it all. He would not be correct though. This wasn’t injustice. He had killed people, indirectly been responsible for Potter’s death. This was the only justice he deserved.

“Did you choose to be one of your own free will?”

“Yes.”

It would be so easy to give in, to just keep saying ‘yes’ to all their questions and be done with it. He would be sent to Azkaban and he wouldn’t have to do a thing. So easy, just as he wanted, wasn’t it?

“Did you join You-Know-Who again after he had regained his body?”

“Yes.”

What did he actually want? Potter had asked him that, and he’d had no idea. He had never truly had the time to think about what he wanted from life. He did enjoy doing research though, he knew that now. Pity it was not possible to do that in Azkaban.

“Did you supply him with potions?”

“Yes.”

Unless, of course, he did not go to Azkaban.

No Azkaban, was that even an option? For him? Considering everything he had done?

“Did you give him the exact date Mr. Potter would be transferred to a safehouse?”

“Yes.”

What would Azkaban actually bring him, other than a life of misery? He would just sit there and stare at the wall, for years. Trying to remember Potter, remember Lily, remember Albus. Was that really the way to atone for his sins? Wouldn’t it be better to spent his life doing research for… for… well, learn more about human souls, for example? Seeing if he could find a cure for someone in the future, so no one would ever make the same mistake as he had?

But what would that bring him? What would a life of freedom bring him? It hadn’t brought Potter anything.

But that wasn’t quite true, was it?

“Did you supply him with other information about the Order of the Phoenix?”

“Yes.”

Potter had known he would die, but he had tried to make the situation as bearable as he could. He has asked Snape to look at him. He had asked him to race him through the corridors of St Mungo’s. Silly brat. Snape’s lips twitched when he thought about it. And Harry had asked him for a handjob. Simple things, but they had made his last moments more enjoyable. In hindsight, they had made both their lives more enjoyable. The only difference was that Snape’s hadn’t ended yet.

“Did you work as a spy for him?”

“Yes.”

Who had made these questions? The judge hadn’t even stated who ‘him’ was. The Dark Lord or Albus. Well, his answer was the same either way.

Albus…

He could continue to say yes, but was he truly honouring Albus’ memory by leaving out half the story? Did his ingenuity not deserve to be known? And what about Harry? He had never stood back and just allowed things to happen, so why did Snape? Was he honouring Harry’s memory if he did?

“Did you take an Unbreakable Vow to help Mr. Draco Malfoy?”

“Yes.”

Azkaban or freedom: perhaps, in the end, it was nothing more but a choice. A choice he had so far refused to make.

“Did you kill Albus Dumbledore?”

“Yes.”

“Did you-”

“On his orders.”

The bald judge looked up. “I beg your pardon?”

“I killed Albus,” Snape repeated, “because he asked me to.”

The audience, which had mostly been quiet so far, started to whisper. There was a sound behind him and Ms. Bassett strode to the front of the room, nodding to him. “He did. And we have proof.”

Snape leant forwards in the chair, as much as his shackles allowed. “She’s correct.”

The judge peered over the rim of his glasses. “Proceed.”

*

A few days later, Snape left the courtroom as a free man. He nodded to Bassett, to Baker, to Minerva, to Harry’s tired-looking friends and everybody else who had testified for him. He took one last look at the pensieve with the memories, then walked out of the room with his head held high. He received his wand and other belongings from a clerk and apparated home.

Once there, he poured himself a glass of Scotch and plopped down in his worn-down armchair with a sigh. He stared ahead. Baker had already told him that she wanted to work with him, if he was open to the idea. He was considering it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to work at St Mungo’s, didn’t know if he was ready to see those walls again just yet. Nevertheless, it was an option. And even one option was more than he had had for a long time. The war was truly over. Perhaps he could finally begin mourning its losses.

 

~ The end ~


End file.
